


Proof Of Life

by ZorroRojo



Series: Proof [1]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-18
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 17:40:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/726024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZorroRojo/pseuds/ZorroRojo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Standard first time. Collaboration with Robin Serrano</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proof Of Life

Well, this was just perfect. All he needed was the sun glaring in his eyes and this shot would be bumped up from nearly fucking impossible to completely fucking impossible. He reminded himself again, you are an expert marksman; Mr. Hotshot with any projectile weapon... you fall on your ass here and you'll never live it down. OK. Concentrate. Calculate the distance, the angle and the wind direction and speed. Right... seven, no, make that eight and a half feet. Around the plant, through the empty picture frame, off the back wall... too many damn angles! OK, wind would be easy. None. Wait, that bastard had the air conditioner blasting. Vin was sure his boss set it to arctic freeze just to throw off his aim. The two beers and four shots of tequila weren't helping, either, if he was inclined to be honest with himself. Which he wasn't. He shook his head to clear it before studying the vent placement around the room. Damn ammo was so light, if it got caught in an updraft he'd have no chance in hell. And he didn't want to be the one mucking stalls with a hangover. That was going to be Larabee's job if he had his way. 

A voice broke through his concentration barrier, the sound intruding on his Zen-like, pre-shooting state. He was gonna kill JD. "Come on, Vin, one more shot and you've got him!"

Concentration gone, well, half gone to begin with thanks to the tequila, he growled low in his throat, glancing over his shoulder in time to see Buck elbow JD in the ribs before making a production of whispering loud enough to be heard in the next damn county. "Yeah, JD, he misses one more shot and Vin'll be on the floor for real. Didn't think he could hold that much booze and still be on his feet."

OK, he couldn't let that pass. "I ain't the one who was out in the first round, Bucklin. I wouldn't be talking trash about another man's stamina if'n I were you."

Vin went back to his target assessment, tuning out the background noise as if it didn't exist. This was serious. More was on the line than mucking out stalls. Pride. He'd admit it. He wasn't about to let Larabee take down the entire team. Damn but the man was good. He'd taken control of the game from the second round, and by the eleventh round, Larabee and Tanner were the only two left. Round twenty-two had him down one letter to Chris. Only, instead of H-O-R-S-E, they were playing S-E-V-E-N. Vin was almost out, having the first four letters. One more and he'd be gone. Chris only had S - E - V. After he made this shot, he'd have to come up with something creative to stop the bastard in the next round. 

The *lucky* bastard, he amended. Vin had watched him line up the shot, keeping the smirk off his face with all of his effort. Right. Dive off the Lazyboy, tuck and roll, use the ficus for cover, send the nerf ball through the picture frame hanging from the ceiling, hit the back wall and ricochet into the waste basket. Oh yeah, and come up out of the tuck and roll on his feet, dodging the nerf balls his teammates would be shooting at him. Damn lucky bastard. Larabee couldn't make that shot again if someone held a gun to his head! No way he could have made that shot sober. No fucking way. 

His friends' voices tried to encourage or distract him, depending on who they'd placed their money behind, but long years of concentrating on targets had prepared him for this challenge. Deep steadying breaths. Check the angles again. Tune out the catcalls from the rear corner. Line up the hostiles and the angle they would be shooting from. Ignore the roiling in his gut from the tequila. That was going to be the tough one. Check, check, check and check. All systems go. 

He darted out from behind the breakfast bar before anyone knew he was ready, dashed to the Lazyboy and launched himself into the air. Piece of cake. As he flew past the ficus, he curled his body into a ball and pressed the trigger. As soon as the nerf ball cleared the barrel, he finished his dive, but didn't watch the follow through. The ping of a trigger as he came out of his roll had him feinting to his left, then dodging forward. The neon green nerf ball sailed harmlessly to his left. One down. No conscious thought guided him; he sidestepped the next missile on pure instinct. His senses were firing on all cylinders, only his cylinders were oiled with tequila. 

Just as he feinted right and made a dodge toward the bathroom door, his foot tangled in the throw rug and he went down hard. The click of a trigger, a soft whoosh, and a bright pink nerf ball caught him square in the face. When he opened his eyes, Larabee stood over him, blowing imaginary smoke from the barrel of his nerf gun. 

"Aw hell!" Vin groaned. Chris bent over and offered his arm, hauling Vin to his feet.

"Nice shooting, pard." Chris told him. "Hit the target dead center. Too bad I hit you dead center." Usually Vin liked Chris' smile. Usually. 

He would be a good sport even if it killed him. He'd even smile about it. "Not good enough. Guess I've got barn duty."

"Guess you do," Chris answered, his face changing from playful to predatory in the narrowing of his eyes and curl of his lip. He hauled Vin to his feet and offered, "How about another round to decide who cleans up the kitchen and deck?"

"Why? So you can kick our asses with your luck again? 'Cause that sure weren't skill, cowboy!" OK, so maybe a *good* sport was going a little far. "Ain't no skill in shooting little foam balls out of plastic guns," he grumbled under his breath as Chris wound an arm around his shoulders and led him to the bar. 

"Luck of the Irish, Vin, Luck of the Irish," Chris sing-songed as he handed Vin his penalty shot of tequila. At least it was the good stuff.

"Salud," Chris and Vin said together before upending their glasses and downing their shots. Vin slapped his down on the counter, well before Chris, he noted, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. OK, he'd admit he had fun. Even if he was going to be the one mucking stalls. Seeing Chris act like a kid was the best part. After the past week, Vin didn't think any of them would feel like acting like kids again anytime soon. Cases like their last one tended to age a man mighty quick.

Ezra ambled over from the target area carrying Vin's purple ball. He tossed it to Vin and extended his index finger toward JD. "If luck of the Irish is your theory, Mr. Larabee, how do you explain Mr. Dunne's disgraceful exit in the second round? I do believe the two of you are both descendants of the emerald isle."

Buck interrupted, slapping JD on the back as he handed him a bottle of water, then throwing his arm across JD's shoulders, hugging him briefly before launching into another "Wilmington lectures Dunne" shtick. It never got old to the audience of ATF agents. Even in the thick of things -- even when everything was shot to shit, Buck could ease tension and lighten the mood.

"JD may have luck, but skill... nope. Boy, didn't I tell you not to spin your guns? How the hell are you supposed to shoot if you're spinning those things like a cowboy out of some old western?"

"Gunslinger, Buck. Gunslingers spun their guns, not cowboys. I don't even think cowboys carried revolvers. I think they carried rifles or shotguns. You don't have room to talk. At least I lasted a round longer than you!"

"If Junior hadn't cheated, I'd have won!" Buck's eyes widened and he made a grab for Vin. Vin sidestepped, but Buck wasn't drunk and Vin was. 

"Didn't cheat!" Vin insisted from under Buck's arm. "Let me go! Weren't nothin in the rules about goin' through places bigger fellers can't. Sides, Josiah made it and he's bigger'n you." Vin twisted away from Buck and put Chris between them. "Where'd Josiah and Nathan go anyway?"

"They left about an hour ago. You two didn't know anyone else was even here, never mind they were leavin'."

Vin sidestepped Buck's grab, darting further behind Chris to answer. "Well, he's wider than you, Buck, and he made it no problem. Yer just makin' excuses."

"And he took the damned coffee table with him! That wasn't in the rules!" Buck insisted.

He was drunk enough to tease Buck from within range of those long arms -- even with Chris between them. "Yeah, but at least he made the shot." 

Buck grabbed him and got him into another head lock, rubbing his head playfully yet hard enough to sting. "Junior, you cruisin' for a bruisin'?"

Chris stepped in and yanked them apart, leaving Vin to sway back and forth while Chris lectured Buck. "Isn't this place enough of a mess without you two starting a wrestling match? Who's staying? We'll clean up in the morning."

And of course, that was Ezra's cue. "Well, no matter how entertaining this evening has been, I must be going. Mr. Dunne, Mr. Wilmington? Are you joining me or have you changed your minds about our little trip now that you are sober?"

"Hell yeah, we're coming! Chris, where are those extra pillows?"

"What are you talking about Buck? Where are you three headed?"

"Vegas!" JD shouted. "Vin, you sure you don't want to come?"

"You asked me?"

"You and Mr. Larabee were engrossed in... what was it? Round 17? To reiterate, we are driving to Las Vegas. Our esteemed leader is thoughtfully providing us with pillows and blankets for the trip."

"Kind of a long drive in the middle of the night, ain't it?" Vin asked.

Buck stood from where he was gathering his things, "Not with three drivers. We're driving in shifts. We'll be there in less than 10 hours."

"That's at least a 12 hour drive!"

"Not in my car it's not, Mr. Larabee"

"I am not bailing you three out for any reason. And neither is Vin."

Buck gave a little whoop as he slung his bag over his shoulder, grabbed JD, spun him towards the door and called out, "Don't let him spoil our fun, we can always call Nathan or Josiah if we need someone to vouch for us! And you two try to do something fun for a change. I know you guys, all you'll do is chores all weekend. It's a holiday, enjoy it!"

With variations of good-bye thrown about, the three headed off to Las Vegas. Vin watched them go, laughing at the trouble he knew was sure to find them. Good thing he had plans for the weekend and wouldn't be around to get the call. He watched them stuff their gear and themselves into Ezra's sportscar, the dim twilight only letting him see their shadows. 

"Vin... Vin?"

"Sorry. Was thinking about how much trouble those three might find this weekend."

"You stayin' here tonight?"

"Got no choice, 'm pretty plastered. You ain't in any condition to drive me home either."

"Then come over here and have another drink. Leave that mess till the morning. Hit the wall switch on the way over."

Vin didn't need another drink and he knew it, but he also knew Chris did. He grabbed the bottle of tequila and followed Chris to the couch. He never was one to drink away his own problems, but he didn't mind drinking with a friend who needed to forget for a little while. He handed Chris the bottle before collapsing onto his half of Chris' overstuffed sofa. He let their normal silence envelope him, knowing if either of them wanted to talk, the other would be there. Sitting in the semi-darkness not talking was nothing new to them. The talking part actually was pretty new though. Somehow, it seemed easier in the dark - and if Vin weren't careful, it would be too easy with the amount of tequila in his blood loosening his lips more than he thought either of them could handle.

"You OK, Vin?"

"I'm fine, why? Am I actin' funny?"

"Besides being the drunkest I've ever seen you? No." Chris didn't speak for a long while, convincing Vin he'd been let off the hook. When he finally did speak, his voice could barely be heard over the ticking of the clock. "I didn't think twenty hours locked in a dark closet with a dead body was low on your list of traumatic experiences. Didn't think it would be so easy to shrug off. If it was me, I'd still be shakin'."

He couldn't help thinking that what Chris actually knew about him only made up a fraction of his life. "It weren't fun, but the worst part was not knowin' what was happening with the rest of the team. Last thing I saw was JD takin' one in the chest. Didn't know what kind of ammo they were using and didn't know if his vest stopped it."

"Like I said, you OK?"

"I am... I will be. I could ask you the same thing."

"My answer would be the same as yours."

"So we'd both be lyin' then."

"Maybe exaggerating a little." Chris whispered into the dark. "God, Vin. When you disappeared from the loading dock in the middle of the op... then I got the note and picture... not being able to do anything... having to wait for word from Buck, Josiah and Nathan... not knowing you were really OK till I got to the hospital." Chris' words trailed off into nothing and he went silent. "Not a good day," he finally admitted.

Vin couldn't look at Chris' face. It hurt too much to see that look there -- his fault it was there in the first place. If he'd been paying more attention, the bastard wouldn't have gotten the drop on him, wouldn't have been able to hold a gun to his head and order him into the waiting van. Wouldn't have put Chris and the rest of the guys through what they'd been through looking for him. To be fair to himself, he was too busy covering the others' backs to watch his own. Still should have heard the guy sneaking up his six. 

Vin forced himself to look at Chris. Forced his own feelings aside. Forced his face into calm. "I'm fine Chris - not even a little bruise. Don't even know why they made me go to the hospital..."

Vin knew why they made him. He was a mess when the others finally freed him. He was shaking so bad, he couldn't even hold the sportsdrink Buck pushed into his hand. He'd passed out from hyperventilating at least twice. He hadn't had a drink in almost 24 hours. Food he could do without for days - nearly a week, but water -- no way -- and almost 24 hours was a long time to be locked in a tiny, stuffy closet wearing 20 pounds of gear. He never stopped sweating, which was a good thing, but he'd felt close to panic the entire time. The decomposing body shoved in with him didn't help his frame of mind and he was truly terrified for the first time in a very long time. The last thing he needed when he stumbled into the dappled sunlight of the warehouse floor was to be crowded, surrounded by bodies; his teammates understood, thankfully and kept most people away. But he couldn't tell them to back off, not to touch him when they so clearly needed to. He'd suffered through it but tried to put his foot down when he was ordered to the hospital. The absolutely last thing on Earth -- or the entire universe for that matter -- he needed was to be taken to a hospital. No one understood -- only Chris would have and he wasn't there -- and if he made it more of an issue than he already had, they'd have strapped him to the gurney and sedated him. So he clamped his jaw tight, closed his eyes, climbed into the van and let Buck drive him to the hospital. Where the fuck was Chris! Ten minutes into the silent trip, he remembered JD. Buck looked OK, therefore JD was OK. He didn't ask; he didn't need to. He felt immediately better and resigned himself to a few more hours of torture before he'd be allowed to go home. 

Vin hadn't told Chris any of this. He hadn't told anyone. He wouldn't even tell the shrink he was going to have to see. He was a hostage -- a fucking hostage! He was never the hostage -- his job was to look at them through his rifle sight, classify them and decide if their lives were expendable. He didn't like it from the other end and wondered if it would affect his ability to do his job. Maybe he would talk to the shrink after all. 

When Chris finally did show at the hospital, he took one look at Vin and busted him out of there -- promised the doctor Vin would drink as much water as his stomach would hold, eat healthy food and sleep until he couldn't sleep anymore. He did it where Vin could hear him too -- and he'd never even told Chris how grateful he was for that. 

The entire team was put on administrative leave and all but Chris were given the following week off. They'd been working seven days a week for two months and they deserved it. Chris did too, but he had to round up all of their reports and handle the paperwork and debriefings. They'd even managed to take down their targets with only one death -- Ezra's snitch -- and he was dead before team seven even arrived on the scene. Vin would never forget his face. That was Wednesday, this was Friday and it was all behind him now.

"Tanner!"

Vin nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt Chris grip his arm; he had no idea how long Chris'd been calling his name, but the shouted 'Tanner' gave him a clue. "Huh?" he asked.

"You really that drunk that you can't handle conversation? You only drank when you had to -- and you only got three letters. Five shots tops and two beers. Knew you were a cheap date, but not that cheap."

"Not drunk, just thinkin'."

He could tell Chris didn't know what to say -- he didn't either for that matter. Chris hadn't moved back to his own side of the couch -- that's the first thing he noticed. He hadn't moved his hand either. It felt warm, comforting. He hadn't even realized he'd wanted to be comforted. Chris was making small circles with his thumb on his bicep and he didn't want it to ever stop.

Warmth spread through him at the contact and he felt safe; the terror of forty-eight hours before receding to where it belonged. Where it had to go if he were to continue. 

Chris wouldn't look at him, not even in his direction and Vin had to lean in to hear him whisper. "Jesus, Vin. You looked dead in that damn picture. You were next to a dead guy and you looked just as dead. Didn't think we'd find you in time. All I had to do was leave an opening so he could get through the net, get out of the country, and he'd tell us where you were before you died of dehydration or heat stroke. I didn't believe him, didn't believe he'd tell us where he stashed you, but it was tempting to just let him go and take that chance."

Chris had to go and bring that up again. What could he say? It's not every day you get used as a hostage. There was no manual for this. Well there was, but not for this part of this. The minefield of emotions once the adrenaline and fear was gone. Once you're released from the hospital and sitting in the dark with your best friend. Nope, the manual was no help for this part. 

"Sorry, Chris."

"Christ, Vin, I don't need an apology from you. It's just... I know I could lose you -- any of the team -- on an op or even in some stupid accident. It could happen anywhere, anytime. I know that better than anyone." Chris hit himself in the forehead, hard. "Here, I know that. But in here," jabbing at his chest, "I... I don't want to think about it. I can't think about it."

Vin leaned even closer to Chris, accepting his warmth, giving back in return. Chris looked... shattered. Weren't any other way to put it. His lazy circles turned into a death grip and Vin didn't struggle to free himself. One look in Chris' eyes and he knew Chris needed to be even closer to him. Something else was hidden in the depths of Chris' expression but Vin couldn't quite put his finger on it. Fear? Yeah, but that was on the surface. He let himself be tugged into a full hug, arms wrapped around him, holding on tight. He dropped his chin to Chris' shoulder, surprised when Chris pulled him in even tighter, almost so tight as he couldn't breathe, and began rubbing his back. Whoa. Casual touches were part of their relationship, but this... this closeness was something new. Something Vin wouldn't allow himself to want. Couldn't allow himself to need.

He pulled back a little and Chris let him go, but not far. Looking up to meet Chris' unwavering gaze, he felt the air change -- static and electricity and some other charge he couldn't identify. This was new. This was different. This wasn't best buddies hanging out helping each other through some rough shit. This was dangerous. 

It'd always been there though. The truth of it hit him so hard and so deep that he couldn't deny it. Or was he imagining things with the help of the tequila? He knew he was staring at Chris' mouth. Knew it and couldn't help himself. 

Chris reached out for him again, latching onto the same arm he'd had a hold of earlier. This time, he ran his thumb along the inside of Vin's elbow, back and forth along the soft skin. It didn't seem quite so desperate to Vin, so deeply needing of reassurance -- of proof of life. This, this was charged with something else and that something else shot sparks right through Vin's belly and straight to his groin. 

Vin squeezed his eyes shut and took a shallow breath. That electricity he felt was shooting straight to his dick, making him hard, and he couldn't just will it away. What if he was the only one feeling those tingles, and the rest really was all in his head? Maybe Chris wouldn't notice that he was sporting wood.

He risked a glance at Chris, and sure enough his eyes were fixed in the direction of Vin's dick. His first instinct was to groan, 'oh hell', but through the dim moonlight streaming through the windows, Vin saw that one corner of Chris' mouth was turned up in a smile that looked almost smug.

Son of a bitch looked pretty satisfied with himself, having given Vin a hard-on. So maybe this electricity thing was as real to Chris as it was to him. Vin dropped his gaze to Chris' lap. Hell yeah, there was wood there, too. Only question now, was whether or not they'd do anything about it.

Each soft stroke of Chris' thumb on his arm made him shiver and told Vin that yeah, they'd be doing something about it. Which one of them would make the first move, though? Which one of them would take the chance? Vin tugged his gaze from Chris' groin to his face. The fierce hunger he saw in Chris' eyes made him shudder. He wondered if Chris saw the same thing in his eyes.

Vin slid his hands to Chris' waist just as Chris stroked his hands over Vin's shoulders. Seemed like they'd be taking the leap together, then. Vin worked on Chris' belt while Chris pulled on Vin's shirt. Looked like they were headed for some serious skin on skin contact. 

One minute he was wondering if he was just plain crazy, imagining the sparks flying between him and Chris, and the next minute he was stark naked, on his back on Chris' couch with a mouthful of tongue that wasn't his own. Things were moving awfully fast. But he didn't want to stop. It felt too good, that heat racing through his veins, the adrenaline rush that made his breath hitch, those hands clutching him all over.

Their mouths finally pulled apart, but Vin lunged up to latch on to the salty crook of Chris' neck. He did some clutching of his own, tugging and kneading Chris' back. The hot column of Chris' dick rubbed against Vin's, and he was sure he saw stars.

It was damned good, the rubbing and the kissing, but Vin knew they could do better. His head was a bit tequila and sex addled, but he was sure there was a bottle of olive oil from the salads still on the end table behind him. A little old-fashioned, slick friction was exactly what they needed.

He took a hand from Chris' back and groped on the table behind him. Good Lord! Chris sucked at Vin's nipple, the one exposed by the stretch of Vin's arm. That was one wicked set of lips on Chris, Vin had to give him that. A nip, a lick and a bite from Chris and the jolt straight to his cock almost made him forget about the oil. He didn't want to be sidetracked. He wanted to glide his dick against Chris' -- hot and slick and slippery -- just how he liked it. He wanted to taste too, but that could wait. 

Vin grunted a bit and groped harder for that bottle of oil. There! In a second flat, he had the cap off and he shoved it between their bodies, aiming at their groins. Oil spilled over them in a thick splash and instantly the slide of their dicks against each other got nice and slippery.

Chris apparently liked it, too. His mouth came down on Vin's once again, and his tongue flicked between Vin's lips. Vin dropped the bottle and grasped Chris' ass to force him into a strong, steady rhythm. Fuck, it was so damned good. 

All Vin needed now was a few more more strong, slick rubs and he'd be coming hard. He wanted, wanted bad and he hadn't even known it. He knew it now and he was in the right position to do something about it. He tilted his hips, angling them higher, wrapping his legs around Chris' waist, searching out the flat plane of Chris' belly to rub his dick against. Chris moaned into Vin's mouth, and pulled his hips back a bit.

Next thing Vin knew, there was a blunt pressure at his ass.

Whoa. That wasn't exactly what he had in mind. He squeezed Chris' ass, and that earned him another long, low moan, but the press against his ass still increased. He willed his eyes to open -- even better, for his mouth to form the word 'no' or even 'wait' but he did neither -- just hitched in a breath and held on tight to Chris.

Oh God. Oh God. The burn and stretch sent shards of pain lancing from his asshole to deep inside Vin's belly. Jesus. Chris was inside him. He hadn't let anyone do this in nearly ten years -- but his body remembered what to do -- relaxing by reflex and muscle memory without any conscious thought on Vin's part. It didn't hurt as bad as he remembered but it had been a long time since he'd done this. 

Vin clamped down, he couldn't help it. Chris finally stopped sucking on his tongue and moved his mouth to the shadow of Vin's cheek laying soft kisses until he reached his ear, sucked on the lobe, stuck his tongue in the canal and Vin lost the ability to form words -- forgot why he even wanted to. Vin opened his mouth, panting, not quite sure if his shout would erupt or not.

It didn't. He gasped for air as Chris pulled his hips back a fraction then shoved inside him again. With each small, strong thrust, he worked his way further inside Vin's body. He worked his way in until he was in to the root, his balls tight against Vin's body. Vin still had a death-grip on Chris' ass, but he found his hand moving along with the rhythm of Chris' powerful thrusts. Each one lit a spark inside him that made it impossible for his hand to obey his mind's command.

As Chris increased the tempo of his hips, the sparks came so fast and furious that a fire ignited inside him, the likes of which Vin had never felt before. All he could do was ride it out and let it eat him alive with its intensity. 

Vin's balls crawled up high and tight, and he threw his head back as the waves of his climax shook his body. Chris continued to fuck him, slow and deep, while he shot all over both of them. He was finally able to open his eyes as the last tremors shook him from head to toe. Chris was watching him, a shit-eating grin dominating his face. Beads of sweat dripped from his brow onto Vin's chest while Vin stared up at him. Chris smiled wider and sped up his rhythm, his eyes never leaving Vin's now that he'd captured them. 

He braced his body with one arm, gently rubbing Vin's spent groin with the other, working the come into his skin like some kind of fancy lotion. Another aftershock hit Vin and he clamped down on Chris' cock, canting his hips even higher so Chris would have better access. Chris' self-satisfied smile morphed into a lust-darkened look of intensity almost guaranteed to make Vin go off again. Chris groaned loudly and dropped his head to Vin's shoulder and set a faster, harder pace guaranteed to finish him off quickly. Vin held on but couldn't stop his head from hitting the arm of the couch with every quick, powerful thrust. He gave in and rode it out. It felt too damn good not to.

Chris was whispering nonsense in his ear, caught up in his own rhythm and lust. Vin could make out every few words... freezing as he heard Chris whisper, "So fucking hot. Gorgeous... hottest thing I've ever seen." Chris shuddered, thrusting as deep as Vin's body would let him and if Vin didn't know better, he'd think he could feel Chris' come flooding his ass. He did know better. He even knew when he'd be able to feel it. As soon as Chris pulled out, the oil and come would come out with Chris' cock. He'd be dripping with it. No condom. Not only had he let his best friend fuck him, but he'd let him ride bareback. Shit. What had he done? Don't think about that now. That was easy, what with Chris draped all over him and their faces buried in each other's necks.

He had a good reason for not fucking, didn't he? Still shuddering from his own orgasm, held down by Chris' body, Chris' dick still inside him; he couldn't exactly remember what that reason was. Chris murmured into his ear again, this time he didn't even try to make out the words. He didn't want to hear how irresistible he was. It was the last thing he wanted to hear -- especially from Chris.

"Never seen anything like it; didn't know guys could come just from being fucked... without a helping hand, 'ya know?" Chris' words no longer muffled by Vin's hair; Vin couldn't escape conversation. Maybe he wouldn't have to participate. Maybe could pretend Chris had fucked him dumb.

He kept his face buried in Chris' neck, processing, overwhelmed, still trying to find a balance between great sex and what comes afterward. Might take him awhile. Like forever. Usually, he got up, got dressed and left. Usually, the sex was just good, not great. Usually, he didn't let someone fuck him. Didn't fuck anyone else either -- blowjobs and some nice full body friction always worked just fine.

After awhile, Vin wasn't sure if it was five minutes or five hours, Chris leaned up, still pressed tight, even though he'd long since slipped out of Vin's body. "Ready to move to the bed?" Chris asked him casually, like they did this all the time. Like it was nothing new or world-changing to him. 

He could be casual too. "Might as well. Made a mess of your couch."

"Should probably hose off before we get into bed then." Chris stood and stretched gracefully. Vin couldn't help but notice he was steady on his feet, moving easily through the darkened room and when he made it to the bathroom, he finally turned to Vin, looking for him in the darkness. "Coming?"

Vin stumbled to his feet, soreness and achiness from the alcohol and sex only now making his legs wobble. He followed the light spilling from the bathroom. Followed it to Chris.

\--------------

The End


End file.
